In the dim hall, No barking And no clawing on concrete. With your chin buried in the pillow, Staring blankly at the ceiling, You were unaware your fate was sealed.
Gazing through the window, Your shadow crept upon you, There was no escape.
The sun ascended And the oppressive heat hung in the air. You stared through the window And flinched.
The ticking of the clock, Echoed in the hollow hall. Then came the phone call. They shipped you, A thousand miles away from the smell of bleach And cold bars. You found a new home, Wagged your tail, Barked with delight And tap-danced all day long.
When I called you, You howled all night long. Your soundtrack, Oh, so loud.
Journeys spent on clawing challenging winding trails, On steep mountains through endless rough barks, With the salty sea breeze, That cooled you with relief.
The sudden jolts of frantic speed, A wide smile lit up your face. And your stamping on the grass, Your ears flopped.
Your brindle coat, So soft, Snuggling in the tangle of sheets.
A sneaky scavenger! Chewed phones and flops, So intrusive, We laughed along.
The sea, So fearful. In time, A wave of joy washed over you. You uncovered rocks and shells And dragged them to the shore.
Your face painted white, Gray streaks marked your brindle coat. The staircase, The labored breaths And your shadow cast on the wall, Followed you along. The stiff paws And the painful sob that throttled your throat.
The heavy blanket embraced you, Surrounded you with glittering stars, You found a new home.
A powerful gust blew as the gray clouds hovered above the jagged peaks. On Sunset Trail Route 6 in Stoneway, a black SUV thundered. Hovering above the road, eagles soared and black seagulls perched on the sagging wires overseeing the road. Vickie was in the front passenger seat with a smile that lit up her face. Towering steeple churches, faded Victorian homes with white picket fences and century-old shops slid past her window.
Ahead, on the winding isolated coastal highway of New Inverness, Jack steered the wheel through rolling hills, dramatic sea cliffs and the rush of seething waves clashing against the boulders on the shore. Sea kayakers paddled along the intimidating granite drop.
The charcoal heights turned darker and grew steeper as the vehicle climbed up through the unbroken forest. The SUV’s roar overrode the silence as they distanced from civilization. Then, a silhouette loomed beside the lonely lifeless oak tree and tall rustling reeds. A cluster of crows seated on the dangling branches and let out a guttural croak altogether. Vickie’s spine tingled as she gazed at the dark shape’s blurry facial features. Jack’s eyes widened in the mirror and he slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched to a halt facing the silhouette standing beside the dead wood.
Legend speaks of spectral black dogs haunting the marshlands and villages of East Anglia for centuries, their eerie howls echoing through the night. They are a portal, a swirling vortex of shadows and darkness, a harbinger of impending doom.
People have spotted them at dusk, flitting near roads, bridges, crossroads, train tracks and cemeteries, their presence leaving witnesses in chilling silence after they vanish. The black dog’s deep, guttural howls, echoing through the night, filled the locals with dread. They described the creature as being the size of a Great Dane, or perhaps even a calf, standing three feet tall with a thick, shaggy coat the color of dried leaves, their eyes gleaming like embers in the dim light.
Amber awoke to the sound of a gust pummeling the window pane. The window was open a crack, and the white drawn curtain waved. Goosebumps scattered on her arms and shoulders as she felt the cold draft sticking to her skin. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the night lamp. She flicked the switch, then grabbed her notebook and jotted down on the blank page “Day 4.”
Unable to fall back asleep, Amber got up and headed to the tall oval mirror. She examined the dark rings under her eyes and her pale demeanor. Her sleeping sessions had been lasting only four hours lately—she knew quitting cold turkey would be hard. Amber took it upon herself without help or any kind of intervention. Last night’s conversation with her childhood friend Teresa replayed in her mind, and her cheeks burned with shame. Amber was a member of the seventy-five-ounce club with Teresa. For the last two years, they’d meet every Friday at Teresa’s place to down all kinds of shots and beer. Amber was hooked on the shot blended with reptile blood—one of her exotic friends fused with this ritual. She raised her chin, let her chest out, and felt the lightness in her body. Amber realized she had to dump her friends if she wanted to overcome this battle.
Amber walked away from the mirror to head to the wardrobe and a hint of malted barley clogged her nostrils. She wondered if she had an ounce at night, maybe in her dreams. The stench suggested the source was nearby. Amber surveyed her environment. No bottles or cans. Her stomach twisted as the smell of roasted barley climbed up her airway. Memories of Friday night’s dinner at the pubs spooled. Standing at the center of her bedroom, unable to resist, her legs shook. Then tremors seized her chest and her heart quaked. She wailed as she had sensations of a razor blade stabbing into her chest. The stray chopping throughout her body felt like her limbs were on the verge of cracking into chunks and then dropping like a Jenga tower collapsing. She howled. Amber sniffed and questioned if the demon was dancing on the dresser. She snorted, then drew to the closet and stuck her nose in to the scent of waxed leather and fragrance. No bottles, no cans. As the undesired odor dissolved, she regained her senses. Eyes closed, she sighed, laughed it off and figured it must have been the withdrawal syndrome. Amber reasoned quitting cold turkey was tough. Was the battle harder than she thought?
Amber lifted her nightshirt, then slipped in her pair of denim and a plain tee-shirt. Then, grunting trailed from the dim hall, which linked the bedroom to the entrance door of the house. She crossed the chamber and stood before the shadowy corridor. A lamp sat in the middle, barely illuminated the hallway. Amber gave ear to the loud silence. Was it the withdrawal symptoms or her mind playing tricks on her?
“Amber,” said a muffled tone, uttering from the hall.
Her brows lifted as she recognized the voice. “Teresa?” She squinted her eyes as she glared at the darkness at the tip of the hallway. “Teresa?”
A silhouette appeared at the end of the hall; its facial features were blurry. Amber’s heart pounded. Cold chills scaled up her spine and her eyes enlarged as she knew the shape. “Teresa? How d’you get here?” Its shadow stretched forward on the floor. “Teresa? Answer me!” The shadow vanished.
Staring at the gloom, Amber passed her fingers through her hair. It must be the withdrawal symptoms. The air in the hall compressed. She needed to step out to grab some fresh air arose. Amber rushed back to her closet, grabbed her jean jacket and slipped in it. Squealing panned in the corridor. She sailed into the bedroom and froze. A soft screeching emanated from behind the walls and she leaped.
“Amber.” A guttural voice emerged from the darkness, the opposite end of the corridor. The hair on her neck raised. The air grew stuffier. Some kind of malevolent force prowled.
“Amberrrrrrr.”
She cupped her ears and closed her eyes. The young woman shivered as she blinded herself from reality. Amber opened her eyes. Fissures surfaced on the wall. She uncovered her ears. The squeaking raced in the wall, haywire. Her maddening gaze traced the web of cracks. TA whiff of rye and corn teased her nostrils, and her stomach aroused. Her inner demons tormented her soul. Quitting cold turkey was much tougher than she had imagined. The opening at the bottom of the wall, at the floor level in the heart of the hallway, next to the table with the lamp, captured her attention. Brows raised, she observed the tiny tail wagging and produced a grin. Amber strolled toward the hole. She crouched, glided her hand into her pocket, grabbed her phone, enabled the torchlight and spotted the hole. Eyes widened, she checked out the void through the tunnel. The grating disharmony amplified. Her head twirled and her ears ached. A sudden burst of rage jolted her. The blood in her veins turned into lava, and her moaning into howling. With a fit of fury, she dipped her fist into the hole, and pulled the drywall to see what lurked behind the walls. She then aimed the torchlight into the spacious opening and scanned the rotten two-by-six foundation beams and the chewed electrical wires.
Amber stood up straight. The walls vibrated. The oil on canvas painting clashed on the floor and cracked. It rained tiny pieces of drywall as the ceiling shook. The lamp on the miniature table in the middle of the hallway flickered. When the darkness hugged her, her heart fought and pounded. The bulb lit and she shrugged. The fissures reappeared on the walls. The cracks thickened. Drywall white dust exploded and scattered in the hall. She coughed as drywall plaster powder penetrated her nostrils and slackened mouth.
The floor rumbled, and Amber stumbled against the wall. She gripped on the molding, which was at her chest level, but it snapped. She lost her balance and landed flat on her stomach, facing the vast hole in the wall. Hissing faded from the large hole. She raised her head slowly to take a gander at what loomed behind the walls. Amber aimed the torchlight into the hole: dented foundation beams, thick cobwebs, and patches of insulation. She lunged her hand into the hole, motioned her phone with the torchlight to her right, and knocked the phone against the wooden beam. She screamed in pain. The deafening drop of the phone onto the ground behind the wall thundered the house. The light in the hall flickered, and she shuddered. As the light blinked again, she stared through the hole and saw a nest of reptiles coiling. She moaned and her muscles grew tense. The fizzing irked her ears. Amber got up in a haste, attempted to dash to the bedroom, but her face fell: a cluster of snakes were crawling to the bed.
Amber had no choice but to leave. Blood dripped onto the cracked and dusty walls. Her bladder loosened. The world revolved a little too fast. She wished she had more time to reflect and act, but she had to dash to the tip of the hall—nervermind the gloom, to save herself. Smoke surged from the gloom, and she froze in her tracks. She sniffed. It smelled like burned metal. She looked over her shoulder. The cluster of serpents had gathered in the hallway, wall to wall, and they crawled toward her, approaching midway down the hall. Cold sweat raced down her forehead and she couldn’t think clearly for a moment. Her heart rate increased twofold. An intimidating, guttural and hollow baying traveled from the gloomy end of the hall. The smoke dispersed. The lamp died. Amber’s thoughts drowned into oblivion and the darkness embraced her frail body. A storm of hopeless scenarios pounding her brain. Hearing the fizzing growing in intensity gave her the creeps. She knew the dead lamp was close by, so she peered back, heard hissing, then tapped on the wall to guide herself to reach to the table lamp. Her clammy hands palmed a squared piece of porcelain. Amber glided her hand up to the bulb and jiggled it. The light came back to life, the snakes gaining ground slowly—they were only a few feet away from the table lamp.
A sudden brutal thunder clapped.
The ceiling crashed. Amber hunched over and covered her head with her blistered hands. Then both walls collapsed. Amber uncovered her head and her face filled with terror. A wave of white powder scattered. Her expanded eyes glittered and her mouth opened with disbelief as the house had no walls and no roof. She turned around and stared down at the bloody reptile carcasses caked with dust and debris.
Lightning flashed. Metal clashed against metal behind Amber. She bounced, spun, and faced the cloud of dust, and wondered if someone was dragging a heavy chain on the dusty floor. The coat of dust thickened. Terror filled her eyes. Amber screamed at the top of her lungs as she glared up and showed her palms to stop. The glossy steel snake, which was twenty times her size, with glowing red saucer eyes, curved its spine upward and stood still. With its foamy mouth open displaying its fangs of prey, it lunged its head forward. Blood squirted, and the beast silenced Amber’s scream.
Gary Karibyan 